


Golden Sunshine

by endlessnepenthe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hugging, Kissing, M/M, Singing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, only the softest things, they're just dorks in love okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:40:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21892291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlessnepenthe/pseuds/endlessnepenthe
Summary: “You woke up too early.” Dean turns his head to peer upward with an exaggerated sulk.“Did I,” Castiel murmurs, confused. Then something clicks. “Oh!”Dean chuckles where he’s nuzzling Castiel’s neck, breathing heat across sensitive skin.“...Should I go back to bed?”“Nah.” Dean nips gently at Castiel’s jaw. “You’re already here.”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 85





	Golden Sunshine

He wakes up so relaxed he felt like he could melt. Memory foam is ridiculously comfortable, seriously. Without opening his eyes, Castiel slowly arches his back in a languid stretch; he’s warm and sleepy and content.

And alone.

It might be just his imagination, but he swears the space next to him still carried a hint of lingering warmth.

Rolling over, Castiel squints at the haphazardly thrown aside duvet in the space beside him. Then he hears the quiet distance muffled sounds of someone in the kitchen.

Castiel heaves himself upright, dragging a forlorn hand across the mattress as he leaves it. Barefoot, he pads silently down the stairs, instinctively avoiding the parts he knew were creaky. Something about the not-quite silence and the gentle morning sunshine filtering through the thinner curtains on the ground floor made Castiel feel as if the house as caught in a magical bubble of peace and happy tranquility, and something in him didn’t want to be the one to break it.

He ducks behind a corner, cautiously poking his head out to see the kitchen.

Dean stands at the stove in all of his bow legged beauty, back turned to Castiel’s little hiding place. A glowing sunbeam caresses the dip of Dean’s spine, playful golden light stretching up smooth skin to touch tiny freckles scattered over his bare shoulders. He’s indescribably beautiful and sleep rumpled; and also making pancakes, if the delightful scent in the air is any indication.

There’s something else, rising just above the sounds of batter in a hot pan… Castiel frowns as he concentrates, sleepy eyes going wide when he realizes Dean is  _ singing. _ It isn’t anything extravagant lyrically — Castiel has probably, unfortunately, missed most of the song — but Dean’s voice is soulful and genuine, soft and rich as the most marvelous honey. Nothing like the loud and nearly consistently off tune singing he usually breaks out; no, this is the polar opposite.

As Dean flips the fluffy pancake onto the stack piled on a large plate next to the stove, Castiel moves closer. He taps the granite countertop just out of Dean’s sight, a little sound announcing his approach, before wrapping his arms around Dean from behind.

Dean freezes with the spatula held aloft in one hand, muscles tensing. Not even half a beat later, he’s sighing a faint affectionate breath and leaning back against Castiel.

“‘Mornin’, sunshine.”

“Mm,” Castiel purrs, pressing a kiss to Dean’s shoulder. “Why don’t you sing like that all the time?”

Tension bleeds back into Dean’s body; Castiel immediately runs a soothing hand down his side, apologetic.

“Weren’t supposed to hear that,” Dean finally mumbles, pouring another large pancake into the pan.

“Oh. Then, I didn’t hear anything.” Castiel hooks his chin over Dean’s shoulder, one hand resting on Dean’s belly. “D’you want me to cut up some fruit?”

“I didn’t—” Dean huffs a frustrated sound, free hand falling to curl over Castiel’s. He takes a deep breath, flips the pancake over. “And anytime you feel,” Dean sings, low and faltering, “the pain, hey Cas, refrain…” His voice strengthens, a touch of confidence steadying the words. “Don’t carry the world upon your shoulders…”

Castiel smiles as Dean trails off into bated silence. “And don’t you know that it’s just you,” he softly returns, carefully following the rhythm he’s heard before. “Hey Dean, you’ll do…”

Pushing the pan onto a cold element and turning off the one he’d been using, Dean puts the spatula down. He lightly nudges Castiel’s arms apart enough to turn around, eyes round with his surprise.

“You know the lyrics?”

Castiel grins, settling his hands at Dean’s waist, thumbs idly stroking the dips of Dean’s hip bones. “Of course.”

Dean laughs, bright and delighted, cheeks flushing a delicate pink. He ducks his head shyly, forehead resting against Castiel’s shoulder.

Smile softening, Castiel moves his thumbs in senseless swirls just above the soft sharpness of Dean’s hips. “Breakfast?”

“You woke up too early.” Dean turns his head to peer upward with an exaggerated sulk.

“Did I,” Castiel murmurs, confused. Then something clicks. “Oh!”

Dean chuckles where he’s nuzzling Castiel’s neck, breathing heat across sensitive skin.

“...Should I go back to bed?”

“Nah.” Dean nips gently at Castiel’s jaw. “You’re already here.”

“Hm. You  _ could, _ perhaps, woo me with breakfast in bed another day.”

Dean exhales a sharp sound of disbelief. “Oh, you cheeky—” He bites playfully at Castiel’s shoulder, right where it meets his neck, a fleeting press of teeth.

Castiel laughs and lightly runs his fingers up Dean’s sides in retaliation; Dean halfheartedly glares even as he attempts to squirm away.

“This is” — Dean absolutely does  _ not _ giggle — “why we can’t...” He bats weakly at Castiel’s arms, breathless. “Have nice things—”

The corners of Castiel’s eyes crinkle with his smile when he takes pity and ceases the assault. Dean’s shoulders slump as he gasps for breath, warding away the first hints of lightheadedness.

Castiel leans his head against Dean’s, looking on with a twinge of worry as Dean’s breathing calms.

“Whew,” Dean sighs. “Wow — that was a workout.” He glances up at Castiel, nearly cross eyed with their proximity. “Hey, c’mere.”

When Castiel frowns —  _ we are literally already touching _ — Dean slides his arms around Castiel, nudging him closer until they’re pressed together. With a content sigh, Castiel closes his eyes, breathing in their combined sleep soft scents.

They hold each other, simply sharing body heat, until Castiel can feel the oxytocin dancing in every corner of his body. Until Dean’s stomach demands for sustenance and calories,  _ loudly. _

Reluctantly, they part, silly crooked grins stretching their lips. Castiel slices some washed strawberries and Dean makes more pancakes, brushing elbows occasionally as they work. The cozy kitchen is filled with a pair humming one tune, sunbeams spilling warmth over their legs and up the curves of their spines.

Dean sets the table, complete with organic honey, and Castiel is a child on Christmas morning when he meanders over holding two tall glasses of orange juice. Castiel’s delight is radiant, brighter than sunshine, and Dean greedily soaks it all in, grinning in return as he drags a chair closer to his own.

Castiel sits, bare thigh resting against Dean’s. He leans in and presses a warm kiss to the area just behind Dean’s ear, soft and sweet.

Dean actually forgets how to breathe for a moment. It isn’t the very first time he’s been kissed and there have definitely been ones given with filthier thoughts in mind, but this one has his breath catching in his chest. The deep affection, honest and unfiltered and so freely bestowed — all for something so small, so insignificant — is breathtakingly pure and so  _ Cas, _ Dean could feel his heart swelling several adoring sizes.

Innocently unaware of Dean’s ongoing crisis, Castiel pours a generous helping of honey over his first fluffy pancake, using the side of his fork to clear away the lingering drops escaping over the rim of the jar. Even before he sets the jar of honey back down, Castiel’s lapping at the golden syrup coating the tines of his fork, happy as a child in a candy shop.

_ “Oh my god I love you so much.” _

“Mm?” Castiel glances up, eyes curious. To his confusion, Dean just stares for a long moment. “Dean? ...Is there something on my face?”

Dean reaches out to cup Castiel’s cheek and Castiel leans into the touch without hesitation, blinking slowly. Gently guiding Castiel’s chin up, Dean ducks his head to brush their lips together, light as a feather.

Castiel grabs Dean’s face and tugged him back in with a low growl, biting at his lower lip. Dean gasps and grapples at Castiel’s shoulders to pull him closer, thoroughly unsatisfied until Castiel throws one leg over both of Dean’s and straddled him on his chair. While Castiel slides his free hand up the back of Dean’s neck, Dean drags his own down Castiel’s back, licking into Castiel’s open mouth to taste the sweetness inside.

“Dean—”

Whining a high sound in the back of his throat, Dean steals one more kiss before Castiel’s pushing him back, determined to voice his words.

_ “Dean—” _

Undeterred, Dean kisses sloppily down Castiel’s neck, scattering little nips here and there at random intervals.

“Dean,” Castiel giggles, bright and carefree, “breakfast—”

“Hm. Busy.”

“Hungry,” Castiel manages to wheeze around his breathless laughter, just as Dean’s stomach rumbles a pointed reminder.

Dean grumbles unhappily but doesn’t move to stop Castiel climbing off his legs. It isn’t until after he’s had his first bite — off Castiel’s fork, drenched in honey — does he register how hungry he is. Then Dean’s hyper focused on wolfing down two pancakes in rapid succession, only slowing enough to pour a modest puddle of honey over the last of his third.

Castiel eats at a more leisurely pace but with no less enthusiasm, pausing frequently to nibble pieces of strawberry and take sips of cold orange juice. He watches Dean satisfy his immediate hunger through speedy consumption, caught between impressed and amused.

Finally stopping to take a breath, Dean drains a third of his orange juice, smiling sheepishly when he catches Castiel’s gaze; holding back a laugh, Castiel silently offers Dean a few slices of strawberry.

So gently it’s as if he’s eating from between Castiel’s fingers, Dean pulls the fruit off the fork. Castiel only barely holds himself back long enough to see Dean swallow; neither of them are wearing any clothes to grab onto, so Castiel grips Dean’s thigh instead, exhaling his deep groan into the sweet strawberry tint of Dean’s mouth.

Castiel’s nearly back in Dean’s lap — large calloused hands sitting  _ low _ on his hips, one pinky finger dipping just under the waistband of his boxers — when the doorbell rings. Just once, politely. Neither Dean or Castiel pay it any attention, but Dean does rock back to suck a blooming bruise high on Castiel’s neck.

“Oh,” Dean mumbled into Castiel’s skin, nearly unintelligible, which only made it even harder to understand along with the blissful haze blanketing Castiel’s mind. “Did I tell you, we’re going” — he drags his tongue over the mark he’d created — “to see…  _ fish _ with Sammy ‘n Eileen.”

“It might’ve slipped your mind,” Castiel sighed in response, tilting his head to give Dean better access.

“Figured you’d want to go, ‘cause you’re a  _ nerd _ too—”

Castiel absently huffs a faint offended noise. “Wait, didn’t the doorbell…”

“Probably nobody important.” Dean kisses wetly down Castiel’s neck to work on leaving another mark just above his collarbone; Castiel makes a mental note to return the favour, sometime later. “Sam has a specific—”

The doorbell rings, held out into a long note. A beat of silence, and it rings again.

“Dean!” Although significantly muffled through their front door, the voice undeniably belongs to Sam Winchester.

Castiel pins Dean with a withering stare, utterly unimpressed.

“Ah, crap.”

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes failure will bring something wonderful; don't give up!


End file.
